Page 21 of An Allusive Love
“I will consider courtship and marriage with another.”
“To the likes of MacDougal?” The knot twisted and grew.
“It doesna matterwho, Brodie. I am almost one and twenty and must consider my future. My ma is right. I willna be happy without a family of my own.” She blew out a long breath. “Ye will always be in my heart, ye ken that, but I must move forward. This limbo I’ve put myself in is no’ working anymore.”
Was this an ultimatum? It ruffled his pride that she would push him into a corner. That was what usually ended his dalliances. “So, I need to decide if I want to marry ye this very minute or forfeit the chance?”
Kirstine stood and brushed off her wool skirt. His eyes lingered on her backside.
“I never said anything about betrothals today, but thisisabout commitment. Let’s meet again tomorrow, and ye can reflect on what I’ve said.” She moved off the plaid.
He was on his feet quicker than a frog on a fly. The sudden motion brought Charlie to his feet, watching Brodie with narrowed golden eyes. He snorted at the hound’s possessiveness. Well, that made two of them.
“I dinna need a day to consider my life without ye.” He caught her arm and turned her to face him.
“Ye tend to be impulsive when it comes to love, Brodie. It’s the only time yer brain doesna mull a subject over to see every viewpoint and implication.” She threw her hands in the air. “It’s as if ye’re blind on the matter. Ye leap first and see where ye land after ye’ve fallen.”
“I ken where I’m falling right now. Exactly where fate has wanted me to be these past ten years.” Brodie cupped her face, his thumb brushing away a tear. “My grandfather and sister have the same worries, so I’m no’ hearing these sentiments for the first time. But thisisdifferent. Ye fill a void no other can. It just took me a wee longer to figure it out.”
An image of MacDougal filled his mind, his hand on Kirstine’s lower back as he led her to the May pole. Brodie’s gentleness vanished. His mouth claimed hers hungrily; he parted her lips with his tongue and swept inside. When her arms draped around his neck, his fingers threaded into her silky tresses, one hand moving down her back to cup her buttocks. He feathered kisses across her jaw, hard with desire as her head fell back, exposing her neck. His lips worked their way down, paused at the hollow in her throat, then traced along her collarbone with his tongue.
Her gasp brought him from the fog. For the love of saints, he wanted to take her right here. He stepped back, grasped her arms, but kept a space between their bodies. They stood panting, their eyes locked.
“I love ye, Brodie MacNaughton.” Her fingers dug into his forearms, her chest heaving. “Promise me ye willna break my heart.” Her eyes were dark and pleading, her voice breaking.
He tucked a burnished red strand behind her ear. She’d never looked so lovely. “I promise no’ to break yer heart, Kirsty.” He gathered her in a tight hug. She clung to him, and he marveled at the certainty that invaded his soul. “Can we still meet tomorrow?”
She giggled into his chest, but her head moved in agreement. Then she pushed at his chest until he was off the blanket. From years of habit, they each took an end of the plaid, shook it, and came together, then repeated the actions until it was folded in a tight square. Brodie wrapped the cover around it and tucked it back into its hiding place in the branch. They descended the hill and left the wood together, Charlie loping in front.
When he got back to the castle, his mother called for him. As usual, Glynnis was busy sewing… something. The woman was never idle. It seemed to be a MacNaughton trait.
“Ian will be home in a few days,” she announced, beaming. “Lissie has already started baking in the kitchen. The mon will have a stomach the size of a sow by the time he returns to Glasgow.”
Ian’s wife, Lissie, retreated to her culinary sanctuary whenever she needed to take her mind off a worry. Or was angry and needed to punch some dough. Or bored. Or happy that her husband was coming home. It had taken their cook, Enid, a bit of adjustment to have another female in and out of her kitchen. One who wasn’t there to do her bidding.
Brodie paused, his hand to his ear. “Och, I can hear Enid mumbling under her breath from here. I should go keep the peace.”
“Stop, now. Dinna cause trouble where there’s no’ any,” his mother admonished good-naturedly. “Besides, ye only want to see what ye can swipe.”
“It’s worth it when I dinna get caught.” He rubbed his belly. “I’m as starved as a lost sheep in winter.”
“Aye, ye look a bit scrawny. Where have ye been?” Her needle paused mid-air to give him a sideways glance, then she chuckled. “Ah, I see.”
Brodie opened his mouth to argue but knew it was pointless. He wasn’t sure what irritated him more—that his mother assumed she knew his mind or that she was almost always right in her assumptions.
*
Brodie balanced hisweight against the roof and the ladder. The sun beat down on them, and he blinked at the sweat stinging his eye. He wiped a forearm over his face, clearing away the straw dust mixed with perspiration that covered his bared chest and arms. It had been a long week, but the re-thatch on the blacksmith’s cottage was almost finished. Below, one man bundled straw while MacDougal met Brodie halfway up the ladder with a finished bunch. Brodie fixed it next to the others, completing the last section, and pushed a large V-shaped peg over the bundle to hold it in place. MacDougal tossed up a long stick to secure the row of bundles. Thesnipof shears sounded as the thatcher trimmed the edges of the roof that had been completed.
The first couple days had been awkward as Brodie tried to avoid MacDougal. Not sure how the widower felt about Kirstine, he hadn’t wanted to appear smug. But the man was congenial and a hard worker. At the end of the second workday, they’d had a nip together, and the unease had disappeared. Brodie liked the man and his son, though the boy tended to be constantly underfoot.
By the third day, Glynnis took pity on the men and asked Liam to help her with some very important chores. Giving the boy her full attention, she would take his hand and listen patiently to his endless questions and narrative on life. Brodie remembered that same attentiveness when he used to regale her with the number of types of insects he’d found in the wood. Or why a tadpole down his sister’s shirt was an experiment to see how high she could jump rather than a devious plot to watch her rant.
He glanced at his brother, Ian, who was wiping his face with his shirttail. Aye, his mother would welcome a grandchild.
“Is anyone hungry?” Glynnis called from the yard. “I’ve brought some cold meat pies and strawberries.”
“And I sliced bread and cut cheese,andI carried one of the baskets,” spouted Liam.
